IRLF 


B    M    1DD    MM1 


FIRST   LOVE 

A   LYRIC   SEQUENCE 


BY 
LOUIS  UNTERMEYER 


BOSTON 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 

1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1911 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &*  COMPANY 


TO 

MY  WIFE 

WHATEVER  IN  THIS 

BOOK  IS  WORTHY  OF  HER 


305941 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

The  linnet  is  tuning  her  flute     ...  1 
Oh,    what    has    caused    the    sparrow's 

mirth? 2 

A  new  religion  stirs  me  now    ...  3 
The  bush  is  in  bloom  and  the  tree  is  in 

flower 4 

All  the  fields  are  glad  again  ....  5 

There's  something  missing  in  the  world  6 

The  broken  bow  is  healed     .....  7 

I  lay  "full  length  upon  a  fragrant  lawn  8 

Lights 10 

Oh  woodlands,  hang  your  banners  out  12 

It  was  but  yesterday  I  went      ...  13 

/  have  discovered  where  she  lives     .      .  14 

There  is  no  death  to  conquer  Spring     .  15 

Green  is  the  blooming  thicket      ...  16 

Swallow,  tardy  swallow 17 

Oh,  she  is  proud  as  the  virtuous  goddess  19 
"The  river  turns  to  the  peaceful  breast"  20 
When  she  would  go  from  me — can  I  re 
prove  her? 21 

Under  the  stars — the  wistful,  mild  May 

stars 22 

Away    with    doleful   maundering,    away 

with    fretful    days      ......  23 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

"To-morrow — to-morrow — to-morrow"  25 

My  soul — if  e'er  your  eyes  were  moist  26 

Dawn — and  the  vision  glorious  at  last  27 

Linger  awhile,  oh  day  of  happy   tears  29 

Now  leaps  the  lyric  madness  .  .  .  30 
Down  in  the  vale  the  singing  birds  have 

nested 31 

Our  love  is  like  the  soothing  rain  .  .  32 
Who  has  heard  the  night?  .  .  .33 
"Only  of  thee  and  me  the  nightwind 

sings" 34 

Our   phrases    fail,    our    very   murmurs 

cease        .                  35 

Roses — they  are  here 36 

They  say  that  she  is  fickle      .      ...  38 

/  love  the  murmur  that  begins  .  .  39 
Dear,  since  we  both  are  held  in  Love's 

command    .> 40 

In  each  other's  arms  we  lay      ...  41 
Every  night  I  climb  the  stair      ...  42 
One  perfect  week — one  week  of  joy  un 
tainted        43 

Once  more  are  the  glorious  ...  44 
/  toss  upon  my  bed,  am  burned  and 

chilled   .  45 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Last  night  we  walked  among  the  paths 

of  air 46 

"While  the  world  is  soothed  with  sleep"  47 

Come,  oh  Love,  my  best  physician     .  48 

Autumn  has  come — to-day  I  heard  it  all  49 

Under  the  cover  of  the  soothing  night  50 

When  the  dusk  enshrouds      ....  51 

An  hour  before  the  challenging  gleam  52 

She  has  left  me  for  a  while     ...  53 

/  sent  her  a  fortnight  ago            ,\  54 

My  soul  is  sick  of  roses      ....  55 
When  the  August  days  were  in  April 

mood 56 

Mount  up,  my  songs,  mount  up  to  her  57 

Night,  sing  to  her 58 

"Love's  a  garment  only  meant"      .      .  59 
I  hate  her  soul — 'tis  like  some  poisoned 

flower 60 

//  God  last  night  had  raised  his  hand  61 
God — /  can  scarcely  grasp  it  yet      .      .  62 
God  made  her  when  he  dreamed  his  fair 
est  dream    ........  64 

She  loved  me?     Nay,  she  never  did      .  65 

Oh,  who  are  we  that  we  are  given  love?  66 

In  the  woods  the  little  elves            .      .  67 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

'Twas  in  the  sunny  weather  I  threw  my 

"heart   away 68 

A  meeting — a  sighing 69 

Yea,   tho*  I  hate  her  with  a  deathless 

hate      .........  70 

Breezes,  be  still 71 

Through  time  unborn*  undying     .      .  72 

Unrest  is  laid  upon  me  like  a  blight      .  73 

I  wander  homeward,  many  a  mile     .      .  75 

There's  a  garden — a  vale     ....  76 

/  stood  within  the  city  of  the  dead     .  77 

All  night  long  I  heard  the  rain     .      .  78 

Thanks  to  God  I  did  not  die     ...  79 

The  world  is  ours  again 80 

Envoy 81 


FIRST  LOVE 


THE  linnet  is  tuning  her  flute, 

The  bees  are  beginning  to  swarm, 
And  the  music  of  blossom  and  root 

Is  throbbing  and  joyful  and  warm. 
I  am  part  of  the  lyrical  strife, 

I  am  one  with  the  voices  that  sing — 
While  even  the  stones  feel  a  hunger  for  life 

In  the  urge  and  the  clamor  of  Spring ! 


[i] 


OH  what  has  caused  the  sparrow's  mirth 

That  she  should  sing  so  light  a  song  — 
Oh  what  has  come  upon  the  earth 

That  it  should  laugh  the  whole  day  long- 
Oh  who  has  made  his  magic  thrill 

The  heart  of  fairy,  flower  and  fawn  — 
I  looked  behind  a  rosy  hill 

And  saw  Him  in  the  dawn. 


For  it  was  April  —  he  that  comes 

With  laughter  on  his  lyric  lips, 
While  every  happy  zephyr  hums, 

And  clouds  go  by  like  homing  ships. 
The  sullen  day,  the  torpid  night, 

The  world's  indifferent  moods  depart, 
And  all  things  surge  with  music,  light, 

Dreams  —  and  the  April  heart. 


3 

A  NEW  religion  stirs  me  now 
With  sacred  fervor,  and  I  vow 
To  be  its  votary,  and  share 
With  song  and  sunshine  everywhere. 

Its  ministers  are  birds  and  trees, 

Its  choir  is  the  holy  breeze, 

Its  creed:  To  make  the  whole  world  fair 

With  song  and  sunshine  everywhere. 

This  is  the  faith  that  I  will  keep, 

This  is  the  passion  that  will  sweep 

My  winter-burdens  into  air 

With  song  and  sunshine  everywhere.  v 

For  He  is  risen,  and  I  sing 

The  throbbing  ritual  of  Spring; 

While  April  moves  me,  more  than  prayer, 

With  song  and  sunshine  everywhere. 


THE  bush  is  in  bloom  and  the  tree  is  in  flower, 
On    the   lips    of   a    crocus    two   butterflies 

swing; 
My   heart    is    uplift   with    this    beauty    and 

power — 

And  I  am  eighteen  and  as  young  as  the 
Spring ! 

The  winds  are  conspiring  in  cavern  and  grot, 
The  rains  are  a  menace  in  fallow  and  firth ; 
The  joy  of  the  Spring  is  foregone  and  for 
got — 

And   I    am   eighteen    and    as    old    as    the 
earth. 


[4] 


ALL  the  fields  are  glad  again 

Since  the  rain ; 
All  the  shepherds  and  their  herds, 

Brooks  and  birds, 
Are  a  singing  wave  that  swells ; 

And  the  bells 
Have  a  newer  joyful  note 
Sounding  in  each  merry  throat. 

And  I,  lying  on  the  grass, 

Saw  her  pass ; 
Saw  her  face  so  wistful-wise 

And  her  eyes; 
Heard  her  as  she  went  along 

With  a  song. 

And  I  knew  that  this  was  what 
Spring  had  promised — and  forgot. 


[5] 


6 

THERE'S  something  missing  in  the  world, 

There's  something  wrong  with  Spring — 
The  lips  of  May  are  cold  and  curled, 

She  will  not  deign  to  sing. 
There's  something  common  in  the  breeze 

That  sweeps  the  tawdry  skies, 
And  all  the  trees'  green  ecstasies 

Are  hateful  to  my  eyes. 

The  mirth  of  earth's  a  shabby  cloak, 

A  thread-bare  guise  and  thin ; 
And  every  wisp  of  fading  smoke 

A  vision  that  has  been. 
My  heart  is  old  and  dull  and  dumb, 

My  songs  are  incomplete — 
She  does  not  come,  she  does  not  come 

Oh  will  we  never  meet ! 


[6] 


THE  broken  bow  is  healed, 

The  wind  has  lost  its  sting, 
And  life,  long  mute  in  farm  and  field, 

Has  many  songs  to  sing. 
Behold,  how  sweetly  is  revealed 

The  gentle  nursing  of  the  Spring. 

The  winter-tortured  trees 

Stand  straight  and  free  of  pain ; 

Despairing  rivers,  left  to  freeze, 
Are  warmed  to  life  again. 

And  all  the  sick  world's  agonies 

Have  torn  the  heart  of  earth  in  vain. 

There  is  no  grass  that  grows, 

No  freshet  running  clear, 
There  is  no  new-born  bird  but  knows 

The  gladness  of  the  year; 
The  bruise  and  burden  of  the  snows 

Have  left  the  world  without  a  tear. 

Now  Fancy  tries  its  wing, 

Now  passions  blush  and  start, 

While  even  children,  touched  with  Spring, 
Whisper  and  walk  apart. 

And  I — I  am  the  only  thing 

Still  bearing  Winter  in  its  heart. 

[7] 


8 

I  LAY  full  length  upon  a  fragrant  lawn, 

Watching  the  Dawn 

Unveil  her  trembling  loveliness  and  bare 
Her  growing  blushes  to  the  placid  stare 
Of  lakes,  that  woke  to  gaze  without  surprise 
Into  her  own  bewildered  eyes ; 
Then  caught  her  smile  a  moment  after 
And  broke  into  a  rippling  laughter. 

And  as  I  dreamed,  the  mysteries  of  earth, 

Unknown  since  birth, 

In  every  tongue  were  suddenly  made  clear ; 
Nature  translated  and  I  seemed  to  hear 
The  thousand  babel  voices  of  the  Spring 
Each  in  its  speech  the  others  answering, 
Mingling  with  songs  of  vaguely-felt  desires 
A  myriad  slumbers  and  a  myriad  fires. 

I  heard  the  buds  beside  the  pasture-bars 
Speak  of  the  stars, 

I  heard  the  valley  brooklets  and  the  rills 

Echo  the  meditations  of  the  hills. 

The  singing  leaves  like  countless  tiny  lutes 

Sang  of  the  dreams  that  stirred  the  deepest 
roots, 

And  every  beckoning  breeze   seemed  to  dis 
close 

The  romance  of  the  roadside  and  the  rose. 

[8] 


The  river  grasses  murmured  for  the  free 

And  buoyant  sea     .... 
So  each  one  voiced  its  dream — but  not  a  word 
Of  love  and  its  wild  wonders  had  I  heard ; 
Dumb   and  insensate   things  that  could  not 

tell 
Aught  of  the  theme  which  Man  has  sung  so 

well! 

/  left  the  place  to  learn  of  Love;  and  after, 
I  heard  the  lake  break  into  rippling  laughter. 


[9] 


9 


LIGHTS 

On  the  heights 

And  stars  in  every  lake — 

The  stillness  seems  to  shake 

Watcher   and  sleeper. 
Wise 

Are  the  skies — 
But  touched  with  April  now 
Heaven  has  grown  somehow 

Softer  and  deeper. 


Strange — 

With  the  change 

What  secrets  lie  unfurled ! 

Yea,  and  I  feel  the  world 

Closer  and  keener; 
Back 

Of  the  black 

And  endless  veils  of  Night 
Have  I  not  glimpsed  the  Light, 

Once  having  seen  her. 


[10] 


Earth 

Giving  birth 

And  death  in  every  wood — 

Marvel  misunderstood — 

I  know  the  heart  of  it ; 
Life 

And  the  strife 
Making  the  mighty  wince — 
Have  I  not  felt  it,  since 

She  is  a  part  of  it? 

Though 

I  may  know 

Naught  of  her  care  and  grace 

Still  will  her  slender  face 

Rise  to  overwhelm  me; 
Still 

Will  she  fill 

And  color  all  my  hours — 
She  of  whom  stars  and  flowers 

Always  will  tell  me. 


10 


OH  woodlands,  hang  your  banners  out 

And  wave  them  all  till  Death ; 
Oh  winds,  exult  with  me  and  shout 

Till  you  are  out  of  breath; 
Oh  Spirit  of  the  Spring,  employ 

Your  every  subtle  art — 
But  you  can  never  match  the  joy 

That  leaps  within  my  heart. 

Sing  louder,  louder  till  you  fail, 

Impulsive  little  throng; 
Oh  wonder-stricken  nightingale, 

Is  this  your  wildest  song? 
Oh  laughing  millions  everywhere, 

You  should  be  twice  as  gay ; 
Oh  what  a  sky  and  what  an  air — 

I  saw  my  love  to-day! 


[12] 


11 

IT  was  but  yesterday  I  went 

Through  woods  where  turmoil  ceases ; 
A  golden  day  was  almost  spent, 
The  dazzling  robe  of  heaven  was  rent 

Into  a  thousand  pieces. 
And  musingly  I  walked  along, 
Humming  a  happy  song. 

And,  after  threading  many  a  maze, 
Just  how  there  is  no  telling — 

More  in  a  dream  than  in  a  daze 

I  looked  beyond — and  lo,  my  gaze 
Fell  on  her  little  dwelling. 

A  miracle — a  sweet  surprise — 

Breathless,  I  raised  my  eyes. 

And  toward  me  from  a  surging  sky, 
There  came  the  sound  of  singing; 

It  was  my  love — she  wandered  by 

With  half  a  smile  and  half  a  sigh, 
And  passed  me,  lightly  swinging. 

Then,  wrapped  in  sunset,  she  became 

Splendor  and  singing  flame! 


[13] 


I  HAVE  discovered  where  she  lives 

And  loiter  near  the  place ; 
The  thought  that  I  am  near  her  gives 

Me  solace  for  a  space. 
Here  is  the  gate  with  rusty  springs, 

Here  is  the  garden  small, 
And  here  her  dress  has  brushed  the  things 

That  grow  about  the  wall. 

She  sees  this  swallow  that  returns 

To  nest  among  the  eaves; 
Her  feet  have  stirred  these  very  ferns, 

She  may  have  touched  these  leaves. 
Her  very  presence  must  have  blessed 

These  things  that  fly  or  crawl ; 
Even  the  twigs  that  I  caressed 

She  knows,  she  loves  them  all. 

She  is  a  part  of  all  that  grows, 

Of  all  that  dares  and  dreams, 
She  is  the  fragrance  of  the  rose, 

The  soul  of  laughing  streams. 
And  though  I  never  see  her  near, 

No  sorrow  burdens  me; 
Her  grace,  her  charm  is  always  here 

In  everything  I  see. 


[14] 


13 

THERE  is  no  Death  to  conquer  Spring 

And  tear  us  with  an  unknown  pain — 
For  she  will  always  come  to  sing 

The  ancient  throbbing  back  again. 
And  love,  once  gained,  will  live  and  bring 

With  every  year  a  fairer  flower; 
Then  why  is  Youth  the  only  thing 

That  comes  and  dies  within  an  hour! 


[15] 


14 

GREEN  is  the  blooming  thicket, 

Green  is  the  budding  bough, 
And  ivied  wall  and  wicket 

Are  green  and  glowing  now. 
The  freshening  color  passes 

Through  Spring's  own  veins,  and  fills 
Green  trees  and  seas  and  grasses, 

Green  vales  and  verdant  hills. 

And  while  the  emerald  fire 

Sweeps  over  all  the  earth, 
From  Winter's  gleaming  pyre 

Are  lit  the  flames  of  Mirth ; 
And  Youth  and  April  Weather 

In  ecstasy  are  seen 
To  rise  and  dance  together — 

Green  in  a  world  of  green. 


[16] 


15 

SWALLOW,  tardy   swallow, 
Hasten  your  returning, 
Spring's  already  burning 
In  every  heart  and  hollow. 

Swift  with  exultation, 
Flames  are  sweeping  over 
Towns  and  fields  of  clover, 
Men  and  all  creation. 

Only  she,  my  own, 
Greets  me  unaffected; 
Still  the  same — a  resurrected 
Sappho — carved  in  stone. 

Earth  and  I  reprove  her 
But  she  listens  dumbly ; 
Nothing  seems  to  move  her — 
She  is  too  calm  and  comely 

Leave  her,  oh  leave  her, 

Winter's  disdains, 
Earth,  put  the  fever 

Into  her  veins, 
Lash  out  the  coldness 

Till  with  a  start, 
Half -blushing  boldness 

Quickens  her  heart; 

[17] 


Burn  her  with  wildness, 
Burn — till  the  sting 

Rouses  her  mildness, 
Fires  her  with  Spring! 


[18] 


16 

OH  she  is  proud  as  the  virtuous  goddess 
Flashing  a  fate  that  is  sterner  than  death ; 

Oh  she  is  calm,  and  her  blossoming  bodice 
Never  is  swayed  with  a  passionate  breath. 

Oh  she  is  cold  as  the  Moon  is  to  Pierrot 

Mocking  his  dreams  and  his  wistful  desires ; 

And  she  smiles  like  a  Valkyr  smiles  on  a  hero, 
Watching  and  waiting  the  while  he  expires. 

Oh  she  is  cruel,  her  spirit  would  harden 
An  angel  in  tears  on  a  comforting  quest, 

But  oh  she  is  fair  as  the  dawn  in  a  garden — 
And  Beauty's  the  virtue  surpassing  the  rest. 


[19] 


17 

"THE  river  turns  to  the  peaceful  breast 

Of  the  brooding  sea, 
The  red-bird  turns  to  his  mate  in  the  nest, 

The  bud  to  the  bee ; 
Oh  learn,  my  love,  from  this  sweet  unrest — 

And  turn  to  me. 

"The  twilight  sinks  in  the  arms  of  sleep 

At  the  day's  decline ; 
The  spent  winds  softly  sink  as  they  weep 

In    the  arms   of  the  pine — 
Come  down,  oh  love,  from  your  frowning  steep 

And  sink  into  mine. 

"The  breeze  has  a  tale  for  the  ear  of  the  rose, 
And  her  fragrance  is  stirred ; 

The  Spring  has  a  secret  that  everyone  knows — 
But  I  have  not  heard ; 

Oh  love,  ere  the  miracle  draws  to  its  close, 
Whisper  the  word." 


[20] 


18 

WHEN  she  would  go  from  me,  can  I  reprove 

her; 

When  she  says  "No,"  is  there  naught  I  can  do  ? 
Is  she  too  young  that  my  songs  do  not  move 

her, 
Or  is  my  tongue  unaccustomed  to  sue? 

Ah,  but  I  know  of  a  way  that  is  better, 
I  will  not  show  her  my  grief,  but  a  smile — 
Smilingly,  when  she  would  go,  I  will  let  her, 
Possibly  then  she  will  linger  awhile. 


[21] 


19 

UNDER  the  stars — the  wistful,  mild  May  stars 

In  April-haunted  skies, 
There   comes    a   dream   of   storm   and   sudden 

cries, 

Of  flashing  faces,  and  the  straining  spars 
That  gleam  an  instant  by  the  pasture-bars — 

And  then  the  vision  dies. 

Under  the  stars — the  wistful  stars  of  May— 

The  farm  sleeps  silently. 

And  oh  what  should  this  portent  mean  to  me 
Here  where  the  world  is  lost  and  slips  away — 
Oh  what  have  I  to  do  with  storm  and  spray 

And  children  lost  at  sea! 

Under  the  stars — and  nothing  moves  that  mars 

The  landscape  as  it  lies ; 
And  yet  I  start  among  unanswered  cries, 
Shipwreck  and  terror,  pain  and  evil  wars — 
Under  the  stars — the  wistful,  mild  May  stars 

In  April-haunted  skies. 


[22] 


20 

AWAY  with  doleful  maundering,  away  with  fret 
ful  days, 
Away  with  all  that  smacks  of  grief,  of  tears 

and  banners  furled, 

An  end  to  dull  perplexities,  an  end  to  old  dis 
mays, 

There  is  promise  in  her  eyes — there  is  prom 
ise  in  the  world. 
Her  mood  is  subtly  changing ;  she  has  whispers 

for  me  now; 
Her  eyes  meet  mine  more  quickly,  and  more 

quickly  leave  my  gaze. 

Her  heart  perhaps  has  melted  to  a  word  some 
where,  somehow — 

And  the  thought  of  her  surrender  is  a  thing 
that  heals  and  slays. 

The  thought  of  her  surrender — can  it  be,  this 

breathless  dream — 
Is  it  not  a  barren  splendor,  a  rainbow  of  the 

mind; 
Have  I  not  been  over-eager  to  discover  in  the 

gleam 

Of  friendly  looks  and  casual  smiles,  all  that 
I  hoped  to  find     .     .     . 


[23] 


But   away  with  vague  imaginings,   away  with 

moon-struck  Youth, 
An  end  to  maudlin  fancies — this  day  I  shall 

be  free. 
Is  it  Love  she  means  or  jesting,  is  it  mockery 

or  truth? 

I  shall  mope  and  sigh  no  longer — I  shall  ask 
her,  I  shall  see! 


[24] 


21 

"TO-MORROW — to-morrow — to-morrow — " 

It  beats  like  a  double  refrain 
That  blends  with  a  challenge  to  sorrow, 
A  burden  of  pain. 

To-morrow — to-morrow — to-morrow 

She  said  she  would  answer  my  prayer. 
And  shall  I  go  gently,  or  borrow 

A  conquering  air     ... 

To-morrow — to-morrow — to-morrow 

And  every  hour  is  a  year. 
'Tis  night  and  the  daylight  is  far — oh 
That  morning  were  here. 


MY  soul,  if  e'er  your  eyes  were  moist, 
If  cares  have  ever  vexed  your  brow; 
My  songs,  if  you  have  ever  voiced 

A  single,  tender  "thou" ; 
My  heart,  if  e'er  you  have  rejoiced 
Be  buoyant  now. 

My  soul,  how  could  you  ever  doubt 
That  she  was  less  than  all  divine ; 
My  heart  and  songs,  how  could  ye  flout 

My  worship  at  her  shrine ; 
For  I  am  hers — oh  sing  it  out — 
And  she  is  mine. 


[26] 


DAWN — and  the  vision  glorious  at  last, 

I  feel  the  sweep  of  life  in  every  part, 
I  hear  the  planets  rushing  through  the  vast, 

The  mountain-rivers  thunder  in  my  heart. 
The  earth  is  turned  to  leaping  fire  and  flood, 

The  skies,  like  waving  banners,  are  unfurled, 
The  winds,  the  seas,  are  pounding  in  my  blood — 

I  am  the  wakened  pulse  of  all  the  world. 

She  is  mine — I  am  ocean  and  thunder, 

I  am  flame  in  a  glory  of  flre, 
I  am  lifted  with  new-revealed  wonder, 

With  gladness  too  great  to  desire. 
Oh  flre  and  flood,  let  me  sweep  her 

With  love  that  no  man  can  divine — 
Oh  stars,  let  me  hold  her  and  keep  her, 

She  is  mine — she  is  mine. 

Dusk — and  the  vision  glorious  still  glows, 

But  softer,  gentler  on  the  world  it  lies ; 
I  hear  the  hours  whisper,  and  the  rose 

Murmurs  a  breath  of  perfumed  lullabies. 
I  hear  the  crickets  and  the  early  stars 

Singing  their  songs  amid  the  twilight-stir,  v 

I  see  the  rudest  things  without  their  scars, 

And  I  have  felt  the  world — because  of  her. 


[27] 


She  is  mine — /  am  calmness  and  quiet, 

I  am  faith,  I  am  peace  in  the  night, 
I  am  hallowed  with  godhood,  and  by  it 

We  shall  win  to  the  worthiest  height. 
Oh  dusk,  make  me  nobler  and  deeper 

With  love  that  no  man  can  divine — 
Oh  stars,  let  me  hold  her  and  keep  her, 

She  is  mine — she  is  mine! 


[28] 


LINGER  awhile,  oh  day  of  happy  tears, 

Of  trembling  gladness  and  of  weeping  joy; 

Linger  awhile  before  the  twilight  fears 

And  the  forebodings^.of  the  night  destroy 
All  that  my  heart  still  hears. 

All  that  my  heart  still  hears  are  broken  words, 

Phrases  and  tones  too  sweet  to  be  believed — 
Half-sighs    that    fluttered    from   her    lips    like 

birds, 
Or    like    some    poignant    bit    of    song    that 

grieved 
In  lovely  minor  thirds. 

Day,  when  thou  goest,  each  morn  will  seem  to 

say 

Thou  hast  come  back  from  strange  and  dis 
tant  climes — 

Thy  face  shall  never  fade  nor  pass  away, 
And  thou  shalt  be  re-born  a  thousand  times, 
Thrice  happy,  tearful  day. 


[29] 


25 

Now  leaps  the  lyric  madness 
From  field  and  sheltered  grove; 

They  sing  about  our  gladness, 
They  celebrate  our  love. 

Birds  in  the  distant  mountains 
Among  the  pine  and  fir, 

And  laughing,  leaping  fountains, 
Are  eloquent  of  her. 

Breezes  that  thread  the  passes 

Of  forests  far  above, 
And  leaves  among  the  grasses, 

Whisper  about  our  love. 

Rivers  and  brooks  are  theming 

Our  numbers  amorous, 
And  lakes  that  lie  a-dreaming 

Murmur  and  muse  of  us. 

Bells  in  the  parish  steeple 

Chant  us  with  ringing  tongues, 

And  all  the  merry  people 
Repeat  our  happy  songs. 

But  oh  my  soul  is  harried 
With  this  pervading  doubt — 

When  we  are  dead  and  buried 
What  will  they  sing  about? 
[30] 


26 

DOWN  in  the  vale  the  singing  birds  have  nested ; 

I  hear  them  every  morning  at  their  play 
Singing  about  our  windows  unmolested — 

But  thou  and  I  are  happier  than  they. 

Out  in  the  woods  I  heard  the  breezes  telling 
How  glad  they  were  now  Spring  had  come  to 

stay ; 
With  light   and  happy   airs  their   songs  were 

swelling — 
But  thou  and  I  are  happier  than  they. 

Close  by  the  lake  I  listened  to  the  flowers 

Breathing  their  joy  of  every  shining  day; 

"None  happier  than  we,  no  joy  like  ours" — 
But  thou  and  I  are  happier  than  they. 

Last    night    I    heard    two    angels    beat    their 

pinions 
And  sing  "Praise  God;  His  smile  and  gentle 

way 

Make   us   the   happiest   things   in   His   domin 
ions — " 
But  thou  and  I  are  happier  than  they! 


[31] 


OUR  love  is  like  the  soothing  rain 

That  follows  clouds  and  thunders, 
It  comes  to  fill  the  world  again 

With  fresh  and  blooming  wonders. 
It  sweeps  away  all  baser  things 

That  flourished  once  unthwarted, 
And  washes  clean  the  low  and  mean 

Until  they  glow  transported. 

Our  love  is  like  the  kindly  snow 

That  covers  great  and  small  things, 
Whose  very  softness  seems  to  throw 

A  glamor  over  all  things. 
It  makes  of  every  common  spot 

A  holy  thing  and  tender, 
And  every  dark  and  ugly  mark 

Is  hidden  by  its  splendor. 

Our  love  is  like  the  steadfast  sun, 

A  force  to  fire  and  quicken 
The  sluggish  joys  that  feebly  run 

Through  all  that  droop  or  sicken. 
And  yet,  although  we  need  it  most, 

We  see  it  never;  knowing 
That  none  may  gaze  upon  its  face — 

It  is  too  great  and  glowing. 


[8*] 


WHO  has  heard  the  Night 

And  the  Silence  singing, 

Who  has  heard  the  meadows  ringing 

When  the  hills  rejoice; 
Who  has  heard  the  bright 

Songs  when  stars  are  christened — 
Every  being  who  has  listened 
To  her  voice. 

Who  has  seen  how  Sleep 

Ended  Day's  dissembling, 

Who  has  seen  the  wistful,  trembling 

Souls  of  butterflies ; 
Who  has  seen  the  Deep 

When  the  skies  dissever — 
All  the  people  who  have  ever 
Seen  her  eyes. 

Who  has  felt  the  birth 

Of  all  sweeping  powers, 

Who  has  felt  the  thrill  that  towers 

To  the  worlds  above ; 
Who  has  felt  the  earth 

When  one  dear  head  is  nested — 
Only  /,  for  I  have  rested 
In  her  love. 


[88] 


29 

"ONLY  of  thee  and  me  the  nightwind  sings, 

Only  of  us  the  sailors  speak  at  sea, 
The  earth  is  filled  with  wondered  whisperings 
Only  of  thee  and  me. 

"Only  of  thee  and  me  the  breakers  chant, 

Only  of  us  the  stir  in  bush  and  tree ; 
The  rain  and  sunshine  tell  the  eager  plant 
Only  of  thee  and  me. 

"Only  of  thee  and  me,  till  all  shall  fade ; 

Only  of  us  the  whole  world's   thoughts   can 

be- 

For  we  are  Love,  and  God  Himself  is  made 
Only  of  thee  and  me." 


[34] 


30 

OUR  phrases  fail,  our  very  murmurs  cease ; 

Held  are  our  fancies  in  the  simple  thrall 
Of  evening's  solace  and  the  twilight's  peace — 

Peace  and  a  tender  hush  that  seems  to  fall 
Like  dark  wings  over  all. 

A  low  wind  falters,  like  a  breath  held  back ; 

Faint  rumblings  die ;  a  distant  window  glows  ; 
And  even,  as  the  hills  turn  softly  black, 

The  nightingale  forgets  to  sing,  foregoes 
His  raptures  to  the  rose. 

And  now  the  stillness  speaks  to  deep  and  height, 
And  we — with  breathless  bird  and  trembling 

star — 
Worship    while    Silence    sings    and    holds    the 

Night; 

Silence,  whose  secret  songs  are  fairer  far 
Than  God's  own  voices  are. 


[35] 


31 

ROSES — they  are  here ! 

Here   in   all  their   splendor, 
Royal  and  austere 

Delicate  and  tender ; 
Each  and  every  kind 

June  at  last  discloses — 
Everywhere  I  look  I  find 

Roses — roses. 

Rose  whose  heart  is  red 

Like  the  blood  of  heroes, 
Rose  with  yellow  head, 

And  the  modest  tea-rose, 
Grow  beside  the  wall 

Or  in  garden  closes, 
Till  the  teeming  world  is  all 

Roses — roses. 

Roses  proud  and  bright, 

Scorning  to  be  lowly, 
Roses  meek  and  white, 

Holiest  of  the  holy, 
Tell  me  is  it  true 

That,  though  none  supposes, 
Summer  decks  her  bed  with  you- 

Roses — roses. 


[36] 


Roses  pale  and  thin, 

Faintly  touched  with  fire, 
Roses  that  have  been 

Wedded  to  the  briar, 
Overrun  the  land, 

For  my  joy  reposes 
Here  'mid  Song  and  Sunlight,  and 

Roses,  roses,  roses. 


[37] 


32 

THEY  say  that  she  is  fickle, 

That  all  my  love  is  vain, 
That  ere  the  shining  sickle 

Is  hushing  down  the  grain, 
She  will  betray  and  show  her 

Unfaithfulness  to  me — 
How  little  do  they  know  her, 

For  that  could  never  be. 

And  so  the  foolish  prattle 

Falls  on  a  careless  ear, 
For  all  their  tales  and  tattle 

Are  laughable  to  hear. 
Such  gossip  does  not  hold  me ; 

For  that  she  loves  me  well 
Her  eyes  and  lips  have  told  me- 

What  more  is  there  to  tell? 


[38] 


I  LOVE  the  murmur  that  begins 

Among  the  reeds  and  'celloes, 
When  all  the  varied  violins 

Tune  up  among  their  fellows. 
I  love  the  little  pause — for  then 

What  joy  the  short  suspense  is; 
But  oh,  the  leaping  pulses  when 

The  overture  commences. 

I  love  each  heart-beat  of  the  drum, 

Each  breath  when  flutes  are  dying, 
The  world,  I  feel,  is  overcome 

When  clarinets  are  sighing — 
I  love  the  grandiose  sweep  of  strings 

That  tears  me  with  its  passion — 
(Save  one)   there  are  no  nobler  things 

For  God  or  man  to  fashion. 

And  this  would  be  my  dearest  choice — 

I  would  give  Music's  splendor 
To  watch  her  sing — to  hear  her  voice 

In  some  old  song  and  tender; 
I  would  give  every  trumpet-call 

To  hear  one  ballad  ringing 
From  her  who  cannot  sing  at  all 

And  does  not  care  for  singing. 


[39] 


34 

DEAR,  since  we  both  are  held  in  Love's  command, 
Why   all   this   idle   speech   and   feigned  sur 
prise  ; 

See,   see   how  near,  how  breathless-close  we 
stand — 

Open  thy  eyes ! 

Dear,  thou  art  grown  so  careful  of  thy  grace, 
Thou  hoardest,  like  a  miser,  all  thy  charms ; 
Cease  weighing  every  kiss  and  swift  embrace, 
Open  thy  arms. 

Dear,  I  have  gained  thy  heart  but  not  thy  side, 
Now  must  the  struggle  end,  and  thou  give 

o'er — 

I  am  Love-crowned — I  cannot  be  denied, 
Open  thy  door! 


[40] 


35 

IN  each  other's  arms  we  lay, 

In  each  other's  arms  we  slumbered; 

And  like  waves,  unknown,  unnumbered 
Visions  rose,  and  died  away. 

And  at  last  I  woke  and  wept, 

Wept  till  I  was  worn  and  breathless ; 

Wept  because  I  had  been  faithless — 
I  had  sinned  the  while  we  slept. 

For  I  dreamt  of  woods  astir, 

Moonlit  seas  and  great  expanses, 
Dreamt  of  music  and  romances — 

And  my  dreams  were  not  of  her. 


[41] 


EVERY  night  I  climb  the  stair, 
And  with  every  fresh  ascending 

Comes  the  moment  of  despair. 

Will  she  meet  me — will  she  dare 
And  each  night  (oh  happy  ending) 

She  is  there! 

People  fear  the  house — they  say 
It  has  stood  unclaimed,  unwanted 

Since  a  dying  lover  lay 

While  he  heard  his  love  betray; 

Sprang  up — and  the  rooms  are  haunted 

To  this  day. 

But  we  come  here  where  no  eye 
Watches  us,  where  all  that  hovers 

Over  us  is  evening,  shy 

Passion  and  a  friendly  sky — 

What  care  we  for  faithless  lovers, 

She  and  I? 

Splendidly  Night  sings  one  tune 
For  us  and  all  eager  lispers ; 

And  our  voices  falter,  soon 

We  sit  trembling-dumb  with  June 

Then  come  longings,  broken  whispers 

And  the  moon. 

[42] 


37 

ONE  perfect  week — one  week  of  joy  untainted 
When   every   daybreak  whispered   rapturous 
news, 

When  Life  and  Love  were  gloriously  painted 
In  unimagined  tones  and  sparkling  hues, 

When  we  were  gods — or  spirits  newly  sainted. 

One  perfect  week — it  ended  but  this  morning, 
With  all  the  dreams  of  a  transfigured  earth. 

They  came  again  with  tales  and  words  of  warn 
ing 
How  that  her  love  was  light  and  little  worth ; 

And  oh  I  hearkened,  I  who  had  been  scorning. 

One    perfect    week — to    think    it    should    have 

ended — 
To  think  that  Spring  had  fired  the  earth  in 

vain, 

That  all  the  marching  years  serene  and  splen 
did, 
By  one  stray  doubt  should  now  be  wholly 

slain. 
And  yet — cannot  a  shattered  faith  be  mended? 


[43] 


38 

ONCE  more  are  the  glorious 
Wonders  amassed — 

Love  was  victorious, 
Doubt  did  not  last. 

The  days  I  abhorred 

Are  forgotten  and  past ; 

Faith  is  restored. 

I  feared  to  speak  to  her, 
I,  with  my  shame — 

Mournful  and  meek  to  her 
Slowly  I  came; 

I  told  of  my  doubt 

And  awaited  her  blame ; 

She  did  not  cry  out. 

She  grew  not  wild  at  me ; 

Shaking  her  head 
She  only  smiled  at  me 

Softly,  and  said, 
"Words,  words,  my  adored, 

Here  are  kisses  instead" — 
Thus  Faith  was  restored. 


[44] 


39 

I  TOSS  upon  my  bed,  am  burned  and  chilled — 
She  sits  beside  me  sometimes,  smoothes  my  hair, 
And  even  as  she  tends  me,  phantoms  stare 
And  whisper   shameful  things  I  thought  were 
stilled. 

"My  love  (she  speaks — and  what  has  changed 

her  smile) 

I  must  be  going  (can  these  be  her  kisses) 
I  have  been  here  an  hour — quite  a  while 
For  such  a  clear  and  joyful  day  as  this  is" 

About  my  head  the  grinning  planets  waltz, 
And   nameless    things   point    at  her   lips   with 

scorn; 

I  try  to  call,  to  cry  out  "It  is  false"— 
But  something  chokes  me — I  am  sick  and  worn. 


[45] 


40 

LAST  night  we  walked  among  the  paths  of  air; 
The  earth  with  all  its  rude  and  ancient  scars 
Had  faded  out,  and  there  was  nothing  there 
But  starlight  and  the  stars. 

Each  star  stood  planted  like  a  budding  shoot, 
And   on   the   ground   of  Heaven   a   crescent 

lay- 

Lay  like  the  rind  of  some  exotic  fruit 
A  god  had  thrown  away. 

And  further  still  we  wandered  till  we  came 

Upon  the  very  burning  edge  of  space, 
And   saw  the  unborn  worlds   still  wrapped  in 
flame 

Hiding  God's  face. 

And  then  my  soul  in  agony  and  fear 

Turned   to   my   love;   but   oh,   my  love   had 

gone— 

The  skies  were  empty,  terrible  and  drear 
— And  I  was  there  alone! 


[46] 


41 

"WHILE  the  world  is  soothed  with  sleep, 

Wrapped  in  fever  I  am  lying, 
And  I  hear  the  angels  weep — 
Who  is  it  that  lies  a-dying?" 
"Dearest,  dearest, 
What  thou  hearest 
Are  the  winds  that  wander  sighing." 

"Nay,  for  I  can  see  his  face, 

Burning  with  its  fearful  story; 
Look — it  glares  at  me  through  space 
Like  a  death-head,  scarred  and  gory." 
"Dearest,  dearest, 
What  thou  fearest 
Is  the  moon  in  all  its  glory" 

"Woman,  hush ;  I  hear  him  now 

Crying  'I  have  come  to  kill  thee.' 
And  his  blade  is  at  my  brow ; 

Now  does  fear  and  anguish  fill  thee?" 
"Dearest,  dearest — 
'Twas  the  merest 
Touch — I  kissed  thy  brow  to  still  thee." 


42 

COME,  oh  Love,  my  best  physician, 
Help  me — I  am  sore  distressed; 

Come  and  cure  this  wild  suspicion 
That  is  tearing  in  my  breast ; 

Rid  me  of  this  premonition — 
Give  me  rest. 

Thoughts  that  thrust  my  heart  like  sabers, 
Take  them  all  away  with  you — 

Let  me  face  the  meddling  neighbors — 
Let  me  tell  the  carping  crew 

"See — in  spite  of  all  your  labors 
'Tis  not  true !" 


43 

AUTUMN  has  come — to-day  I  heard  it  all — 

Aye,   while   the  woodland   spirits   held   their 

breath 
The  young  trees  trembled  and  a  birch  let  fall 

Some  yellow  leaves  in  nervous  fear  of  death. 
Yet  Summer  lives  within  my  heart,  for  still 

The  lover's  magic  lingers  in  her  lips, 
And   oh   she    charms   away   the    thoughts   that 
chill 

With  songs  of  Springtime  in  her  finger-tips. 


[49] 


44 

UNDER  the  cover  of  the  soothing  Night, 
I  bared  my  heart  with  all  its  woe ; 
I  bared  my  heart  that  she  might  know 

The  fears  that  poisoned  each  delight, 
And  why  I  suffered  so. 

Under  the  cover  of  the  soothing  Night, 
I  told  my  trouble  like  a  child 
In  broken  sentences  and  wild, 

She  was  not  moved — with  eyes  still  bright 
She  looked  at  me  and  smiled. 

Under  the  cover  of  the  soothing  Night, 
My  love  and  I  in  anger  went, 
And  when  my  storm  of  words  was  spent 

Her  hand  within  my  hand  lay  light — 
And  I  was  well  content. 


[50] 


45 


WHEN  the  Dusk  enshrouds 
Visions  sharp  and  hateful, 

When  Night's  blurring  fingers 

Smooth  each  tawdry  spot, 
Then  the  heavy  clouds 

Lift  and  leave  me  grateful, 
And  the  fear  that  lingers 
Is  forgot. 

When  the  day  is  near 
And  an  hour  thereafter 
Still  the  earth  inherits 

Peace  and  calm  delight, 
Then  afresh  and  clear 

Comes  her  sunny  laughter — 
And  my  stricken  spirits 
Long  for  Night. 


[51] 


46 

AN  hour  before  the  challenging  gleam 

Of  dawn  that  heralds  the  day, 
My  love  awoke  in  the  midst  of  a  dream 

And  turned  to  where  I  lay. 

I  felt  her  breath  grow  wild  and  warm 

And  her  arms  about  me  twine, 
And  she  whispered  a  name  as  she  turned  to  my 
arm — 

A  name  that  was  not  mine. 

And  then  she  slept  at  my  breast  as  fast 
As  though  she  were  never  so  dear; 

But  I  knew  that  the  glory  of  Love  had  passed, 
And  I  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 


47 

SHE  has  left  me  for  a  while — 

Not  in  anger  or  in  passion — 
Left  me,  saying  with  a  smile, 

"Love  is  out  of  fashion ; 
'Tis  a  garment  only  meant 

For  the  minstrel  and  romancer" — 
And  I  watched  her  as  she  went, 

Struggling,  speechless  for  an  answer. 

Now  I  wander  to  and  fro, 

Up  and  down  the  ruined  orchard, 
And  I  rave  and  scarcely  know 

Why  I  am  so  tortured. 
Does  she  mean  to  tear  my  heart 

All  afresh  with  this  new  flaying, 
Or,  I  wonder,  is  it  part 

Of  a  game  she  tires  in  playing. 


[53] 


48 

I  SENT  her  a  fortnight  ago 

A  lily,  a  rose  and  a  song ; 
Three  fair  little  symbols  to  show 

That  Love  had  forgiven  the  wrong. 
And  I  said  to  the  flowers,  "Be  fair," 

And  I  said  to  the  song,  "Be  my  voice1'; 
And  I  took  and  I  placed  them  with  care 

In  a  book  that  had  made  her  rejoice. 

To-day  she  returned  them  to  me 

Unanswered,  untouched  and  untried— 
And  I  wept,  when  I  found  them,  to  see 

My  three  little  tokens  had  died. 
Voiceless  they  died  in  the  dark, 

The  flowers  for  lack  of  a  tongue ; 
But  the  song  had  the  soul  of  a  lark — 

And  the  song  had  not  even  been  sung. 


[54] 


MY  soul  is  sick  of  roses, 

Of  lilies  proud  and  pale — 
In  scented  garden  closes 

The  old-time  beauties  fail. 
And  though  the  spell  reposes 

On  every  flower  that  grows, 
My  soul  is  sick  of  roses 

Since  she  has   scorned  the   rose. 

My  soul  is  sick  of  singing, 

Of  whispered  strains  and  sighs ; 
Like  kisses  cloyed  but  clinging, 

The  spell  of  Music  dies. 
And  though  the  world  is  ringing 

With  all  its  lyric  tongues, 
My  soul  is  sick  of  singing 

Since  she  has  scorned  my  songs. 


[55] 


50 

WHEN  the  August  days  were  in  April  mood 

I  mind  a  morning  of  amethyst, 
When  the  slender  trees  on  the  hill-top  stood, 

Ghosts  of  green  in  the  silver  mist. 

The  scene  is  the  same — it  is  August  still — 
There's  mist — but  I  look  for  the  magic  in 
vain ; 

The  dawn  is  a  blur,  and  there  loom  on  the  hill 
Ghosts  of  gray  in  the  sagging  rain. 


[56] 


51 


MOUNT  up  my  songs,  mount  up  to  her 

Upon  your  winged  phrases ; 
Each  lyric  be  a  chorister 

That  only  chants  her  praises. 
Oh  steal  into  her  thoughts  and  sing 

The  strains  that  used  to  win  her, 
Until  you  have  revived  the  Spring 

And  found  the  heart  within  her. 


[57] 


52 

NIGHT,  sing  to  her 
All  of  thy  songs. 
Night,  bring  to  her 
Dreams  that  will  cling  to  her, 
Dreams  that  will  move  her  with  tears  for  my 

wrongs. 
Night,  sing  to  her. 

Night,  care  for  her — 

All  of  her  sins, 
Night,  bear  for  her — 
Beauty's  a  prayer  for  her, 

Beauty's  a  prayer  which  she  ends  and  begins — 
Night,  care  for  her. 

Night,  sing  to  her 
All  that  has  lain 
Like  a  dead  thing  to  her — 
Bring  the  lost  Spring  to  her; 
Sing  the  heart  back  to  her  bosom  again — 
Night,  sing  to  her. 


[58] 


"Love's  a  garment  only  meant 
For  the  minstrel  and  romancer." 

This  is  all  that  she  has  sent 

To  my  pleadings  as  an  answer. 

How  the  words  come  back  again, 
Still  as  careless,  still  as  bitter — 

Like  a  harsh  and  mocking  strain 
Played  upon  a  tinkling  zither. 

Like  a  prisoner  chained  alone, 

Dullness  binds  me,  wrist  and  ankl< 

All  the  evil  thoughts  are  gone 

But  the  words  remain  and  rankle. 

"Love's  a  garment  (so  it  went) 
For  the  minstrel  and  romancer — " 

Aye — the  robe  was  never  meant 
For  the  nightshift  of  a  dancer. 


[59] 


54 

I    HATE    her     soul — 'tis    like    some    poisoned 
flower — 

A  blight,  a  curse,  a  brand  upon  her  brow ; 
But  never,  even  in  our  dearest  hour, 

Were  all  her  charms  as  maddening  as  now. 


[60] 


55 

IF  God  last  night  had  raised  His  hand 

And  suddenly  withdrawn  the  light, 
If  He  had  swept  the  stars  like  sand 

Into  a  corner  of  the  night; 
If  He  had  held  the  meteors  back 

And  torn  the  moon  from  out  the  skies, 
The  darkness  would  have  been  less  black 

Than  was  the  earth  before  my  eyes. 

All  day  I  heard  an  evil  wind 

Echo  a  thousand  hateful  views, 
In  every  face  I  seemed  to  find 

The  bearer  of  some  dreaded  news. 
All  day  in  mad  review  there  passed 

Portents  and  rumors  wild  and  drawn, 
And  then — the  dream  come  true  at  last — 

Her  house  was  dark — and  she  was  gone. 

Gone — and  I  sink  beneath  the  press 

Of  bitterness  that  naught  controls; 
Gone — and  this  petty  faithlessness 

Destroys  a  universe  of  souls ; 
It  shakes  one's  faith  in  all  things  pure, 

It  taints  with  cynic  gall  the  sweet — 
If  love  like  hers  cannot  endure, 

Is  life  itself  as  much  a  cheat? 


[61] 


56 

GOD — I  can  scarcely  grasp  it  yet, 

It  is  too  black  to  be; 
The  ways  are  darkness,  fear-beset, 

And  not  a  hand  is  reached  to  me — 
I  knew  the  world  might  leave  me  thus, 

But  of  all  others — she ! 

If  I  could  only  curse  and  smite 

If  I  could  only  rail — 
But  here  I  sit  alone  and  write 

The  thoughts  that  make  me  gasp  and  pale ; 
Wild  and  blaspheming  things  I  write, 

And  watch  the  sunset  fail. 

I  watch  the  scattered  little  swarm 
Troop  homeward  through  the  mists, 

And  there  a  boy  has  claimed  an  arm 
Of  one  who  smiles  and  scarce  resists — 

How  long  until  she  plays  him  false, 
I  think,  and  clench  my  fists. 

And  here,  another  happy  two 

Come  talking  secretly. 
Oh  lad,  before  this  month  is  through, 

Whose  will  her  fluttering  glances  be — 
Love  lightly  then,  with  laughing  lips, 

But  never  love  like  me. 

[62] 


Lest  all  day  in  a  cankered  mind 

Distrust  war  with  despair; 
Lest  evil  conquer,  and  you  find 

In  eyes  that  once  seemed  clean  and  fair 
Deceit,  the  mockery  of  Love — 

And  falseness  eve^where. 

God — I  can  scarcely  grasp  it  yet, 

It  is  too  black  to  be; 
The  ways  are  darkness,  ~f  ear-be  set, 

And  not  a  hand  is  reached  to  me — 
/  knew  the  world  might  leave  me  thus 

But  of  all  others— She! 


[63] 


57 

GOD    made   her   when   he    dreamed   his    fairest 

dream, 

And   called  the  angels   that  they  might  re 
joice; 

God  sang  into  her  heart,  and  lo,  the  theme 
Lives  in  her  swaying  voice. 

God  made  her  when  He  breathed  His   softest 

word, 

Shaping  her  gentler  than  His  gentlest  ways ; 
God  blessed  her,  and  the  very  suns  were  stirred 
To  rapture  at  her  gaze. 

God  is  so  good  He  would  not  harm  a  flower, 

At  evil  only  His  creation  halts — 
Oh  then  what  spirit,  what  malignant  power 
Could  make  her  soul  so  false? 


[64] 


58 


SHE  loved  me?     Nay,  she  never  did, 

She  only  played  at  loving; 
Her  heart  was  quite  too  small  and  light 

For  aught  but  mild  reproving. 

I  knew  it  even  from  the  first, 
Ere  she  grew  cold  and  ashen — 

For  when  we  kissed  I  felt  we  missed 
The  nobler  part  of  Passion. 

There  were  no  bonds  of  common  cares, 
No  dreams,  no  kin  devotions — 

And  in  her  heart  there  was  no  part 
For  wild  and  deep  emotions. 

Love?    It  was  but  a  little  gift 
One  gives  to  each  newcomer — 

It  was  a  thing  that  came  with  Spring 
And  went  within  a  Summer. 


[65] 


59 

OH  who  are  we  that  we  are  given  Love — 

What  whim  of  God's  was  this  that  we  should 

know 
A  leaping  fervor  and  a  fearless  glow 

That  is  not  known  above ; 
We  are  not  clean  and  pure  enough  a  race 
To  look  upon  its  face. 

Oh  who  are  we  that  we  should  have  all  this — 
This  joy,  this  glory,  this  divine  appeal, 
This  fire  that  God  Himself  can  never  feel, 

This  sudden  power  and  bliss. 
Why  are  we  burned  and  blessed  and  burdened 
thus — 

It  is  too  great  for  us. 


[66] 


60 

IN  the  woods  the  little  elves 

Hide  themselves 
Under  mossy  rock  and  mound, 

Under  ground; 
And  they  frolic  as  they  play 
Through  the  night  and  all  the  day — 
Merrily  the  little  elves 

Sport  themselves. 

When  an  elfin  (so  they  say) 

Loves  a  fay 
They  will  kiss  and  find  a  grot — 

And  if  not, 

Neither  sighs  nor  pines  away, 
Neither  ceases  from  its  play     .     .     . 
Oh,  what  things  could  men  themselves 

Learn  from  elves! 


[67] 


61 

'TwAs  in  the  sunny  weather  I  threw  my  heart 

away, 

I  tossed  it  to  the  Springtime,  and  the  thou 
sand  shapes  of  joy— 
And  who  should  chance  to  find  it  but  a  woman 

who,  they  say, 

Had  lacked  a  heart  herself  and  so  she  took 
the  pretty  toy. 

'Twas  in  the  cloudy  weather  I  found  my  heart 

again ; 

It  came  back  to  my  window,  complaining  bit 
terly— 
It  came  back  bruised  and  begging,  haggard  and 

torn  with  pain ; 

But  I  laughed  and  let  it  perish — what  use 
was  it  to  me? 


[68] 


A  MEETING — a  sighing- 

A  deal  of  lament — 
A  little  denying — 

A  final  consent — 
A  kiss  and  a  quarrel — 

"Oh  Powers  above !" 
The  tale  has  no  moral— 

And  this  is  Love. 


[69] 


63 

YEA,  though  I  hate  her  with  a  deathless  hate, 
I  shall  not  curse  at  her  nor  yet  her  kind ; 

For  who  would  rail  and  scoff  at  one  whose  fate 
Was  to  be  maimed  or  blind? 

Such  lives  receive  our  pity — not  our  scorn, 
We  help  them   make  their  broken  pleasures 
whole ; 

And  shall  I  harm  her  then — she  who  was  born 
A  weak  and  crippled  soul? 


[70] 


64 

BREEZES,  be  still — 
Bear  not  her  perfidy  abroad, 
Lest  birds  that  innocently  thrill 
Should  cease  to  sing  with  God. 

Flowers,  be  brave — 
Fade  now  and  never  bloom  again, 
Lest  happy  hearts  should  find  you  grave 
And  learn  your  secret  pain. 

Stars,  close  your  eyes — 
Do  not  betray  the  world's  disgrace, 
Lest  ocean  lift  up  to  the  skies 
A  horror-stricken  face. 

Dreams,  you  must  die — 
No  more  my  bitter  thoughts  shall  move, 
Lest  all  an  outraged  world  deny 
The  miracle  of  Love. 


[71] 


65 


THROUGH  Time  unborn,  undying, 
The  waters  wail  and  weep, 

They  never  cease  from  crying — 
They  cannot  even  sleep. 

Their  anguished  cry  is  heard  in 
The  heaven  and  earth  below, 

And  none  may  know  their  burden 
And  none  may  know  their  woe, 

But  I — who  would  be  lying 

Where  they,  my  brothers,  weep, 

Who  never  cease  from  crying 
And  cannot  even  sleep. 


[72] 


66 

UNREST  is  laid  upon  me  like  a  blight. 

When  I  recall  her  wrong,  her  false  embrace, 
A  sudden  fury  shakes  me  in  the  night 

And  then — the  quiet  beauty  of  her  face. 
Mood  follows  mood;  my  world  is  overcast 
With    too    much    brooding    on    a    woman's 

frown ; 

Enough  of  lonely  sorrow — and  at  last 
I  have  gone  to  the  town. 

Faces,  everywhere  faces;  surge  on  surge 

The    human    billows    thunder    through    the 

street ; 

What  ocean  trembling  upon  what  a  verge, 
What   roaring   seas,  what   tides   that   storm 

and  beat. 
Faces  and  towers,  cars  and  women  whirl 

Everywhere,  endless — till  my  senses  seem 
Lost  amid  odors,  lights  and  sounds  that  swirl 
As  in  a  dizzy  dream. 

A  dream  that  I  have  dreamed — and  now  made 

plain 
That  nightmare  flash  beneath  the  mild  May 

stars ! 

Here  are  the  straining  faces,  here  the  pain, 
Here  are  the  shipwrecks  and  the  evil  wars. 

[73] 


Here  do  I  move  among  unanswered  cries, 

Here  in  the  town  of  lives  outlived  and  vain, 
The  dream,  the  storm,  the  fear,  the  strange-lit 
skies, 

Sweep  over  me  again. 

And  I  had  come  for  pleasure,  for  relief, 

To  gaudy  crowds  and  over-brilliant  lights — 

Better  the  gray  field  and  the  quiet  grief 
Than  this  loud  mockery  of  city  nights. 

The  veins  of  town  are  poisoned  with  decay, 
Its  heart  is  throbbing  with  a  futile  stir  .  .  . 

What  must  the  city  do  to  those  that  stay — 
What  has  it  done  to  her? 


[74] 


67 

I  WANDER  homeward,  many  a  mile, 
Alone  and  in  the  noon  of  night ; 

The  Moon  accosts  me  with  a  smile — 
I  am  so  pale  and  white. 

"Why  are  you  here,"  She  asks  me,  "Why 
Do  you  not  slumber  ere  I  wane?" 

Alas — She  does  not  know  that  I 
Can  never  sleep  again. 

The  houses  stand  a  somber  host, 

No  sound  the  dreaming  night  invades; 

And  like  a  mournful  moonlit  ghost 
I  steal  among  the  shades. 

There's  not  a  soul  that  roams  abroad — 
The  shadows  crouch  austere  and  stark, 

The  very  trees  are  overawed 
And  huddle  in  the  dark. 

There's  not  a  star  but  finds  its  lake — 
Night  pillows  every  restless  head, 

And  I  alone  am  left  awake — 
Oh  God— that  I  were  dead ! 


[75] 


68 

THERE'S  a  garden,  a  vale 

Where  no  nightingale   sings, 

And  it  nurtures  the  pale, 

And  the  strangest  of  things, 

For  the  folk  are  all  drones 
And  the  trees  have  no  boughs 

In  the  Valley  of  Bones. 

There's  a  garden  that  blooms 
With  the  tears  of  distress, 

And  the  trees  are  the  tombs 
That  will  never  grow  less, 

And  the  flowers  are  stones 
That  blossom  and  blanch 

In  the  Valley  of  Bones. 

There's  a  garden  that  blooms 
Where  all  bitter  things  cease; 

A  vale  that  assumes 

All  the  beauties  of  Peace, 

For  no  one  atones, 
And  no  one  repents, 

In  the  Valley  of  Bones. 


[76] 


69 

I  STOOD  within  the  city  of  the  dead 

And  walked  awhile  among  the  little  coombs, 
The  winds  of  dawn  were  waking  as  I  read 
The  legends  on  the  tombs. 

Here  was  the  mausoleum  of  a  priest, 

Here  were  the  graves  of  those  who  fought 

and  bled, 

And  here  lay  one  who  builded  West  and  East — 
His  was  a  splendid  bed. 

But  only  one  it  was  that  made  me  pause — 

A  granite  slab  scarce  two  feet  high  and  wide, 
Hidden  away,  because  its  owner  was 
A  common  suicide. 

And  there  I  sat,  and  wondered  why  he  died, 
And  watched  the  weary  stars  grow  dull  and 

dim; 

And  how  I  yearned  to  have  him  at  my  side — 
To  sit  and  talk  with  him 


[77] 


70 

ALL,  night  long  I  heard  the  rain 

Calling  me — 

Wake  and  weary,  worn  with  pain, 
All  night  long  I  heard  the  rain 
Sobbing  to  the  same  refrain 

Endlessly. 

And  when  I  could  bear  no  more, 

When  the  call 
Grew  into  a  frenzied  roar, 
I  arose,  and  blindly  swore 
I  would  end  it — have  it  o'er 

Once  for  all     ... 

In  the  streets  I  woke  from  swoon 

Suddenly ; 

For  the  rain  had  changed  its  tune 
To  a  simple,  soothing  croon — 
And  a  kindly  mother-moon 

Smiled  on  me. 

And  into  the  night,  my  mad 
Thoughts  were  hurled. 

Like  a  child  that  has  been  bad ; 

Somewhat  shamed  and  somewhat  sad 

Back  I  crept,  at  peace  and  glad 
With  the  world. 


71 

THANKS  to  God  I  did  not  die 

After  my  despair; 
Yesterday,   bewildered,   I 

Saw  the  world  turn  fair. 
Saw  my  lost  one — saw  her  face 

After  all  these  years. 
Lo,  and  as  she  met  my  gaze 

In  her  eyes  were  tears. 

Tears — in  eyes  that  never  wept ! 

Tears — that  naught  could  start! 
Oh  what  miracle  had  swept 

Skies  to  wake  her  heart. 
Something,  not  of  her  control, 

Changed  her  even  now; 
Something  finer — call  it  soul — 

Lay  upon  her  brow. 

Thanks  to  God  I  did  not  die 

In  that  bitter  mood ; 
Thanks  to  God  indeed  that  I 

Saw  that  life  was  good, 
Saw  that  still  my  hopes  might  breast 

Countless  waves  of  years — 
Aye,  for  God  Himself  has  blessed 

Love  re-born  in  tears. 


[79] 


72 

THE  world  is  ours  again — 

Ours  is  the  heavenly  rout — 
For,  as  the  healing  rain 

Freshens  the  rose, 
Sadness  has  made  us  whole 
After  the  bitter  drought, 
And  the  despairing  soul 

Blossoms  and  glows. 

Sing,  heart,  sing,  lips,  sing,  promise  of  the  mor 
row, 
Love  is  not  Love  that  has  not  tasted  sorrow. 

All,  all  is  ours  again — 

The  hour  with  wonder  fraught — 
The  passions  near  to  pain 

We  feel  anew; 
For  lovers  need  the  years 

Of  tender  speech  and  thought, 
But  Love  itself  needs  tears 
And  suffering  too. 

Sing,  heart,  sing,  lips,  sing,  promise  of  the  mor 
row, 
Love  is  not  Love  that  has  not  tasted  sorrow. 


[80] 


The  world  is  ours  again — 

The  world  and  its  belief; 
The  purpose  is  made  plain 

Below,  above. 
It  only  needed  this — 

This  miracle  of  grief — 
To  make  our  wayward  bliss 
A  perfect  Love. 

Sing,  heart,  sing,  lips,  sing,  promise  of  the  mor 
row, 
Love  is  not  Love  that  has  not  tasted  sorrow. 


[81] 


ENVOY 

So  end  the  lyrics  of  my  earliest  passion — 
First  love,  with  all  its  fever  and  its  -fears — 

So  wakes  the  new  love  in  a  nobler  fashion, 
So  die  the  little  griefs  and  shallow  tears. 

But  Joy  will  live  and  Spring  can  never  perish — 
Youth  in  my  heart  will  burn  until  I  die; 

And  all  the  beauties  that  my  soul  may  cherish 
WiU  fill  a  richer  earth  and  vaster  sky. 

For  now  Love  comes  with  all  the  early  fire, 
The  exultation  and  the  leaping  joy, 

Blended  with  something  homelier  and  higher — 
Peace  and  a  faith  the  years  cannot  destroy. 


[83] 


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U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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